satalitra
He told her hate was the only true emotion.
So she kept the little black dress he hated most - a reminder of the girl he left on the bathroom floor.
She wasn't looking for love.
She was learning how to not flinch when someone reached for her.
How to sleep in an empty bed without it feeling like punishment.
How to be glad to be hers.
Then he showed up.
Not with fireworks or grand promises.
With patience.
With coffee on bad days.
With hands that didn't leave bruises on her heart.
He didn't try to fix her.
He just stayed.
And slowly, the dress she wore as armor became just... a dress.
This is not a love-at-first-sight story.
It's a slow burn through the wreckage.
Because sometimes the person who helps you heal
is the one who teaches you what it means to be glad to be _theirs_.
*A/N*: be kind im still learning